


this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in its time, exploding)

by meliebee



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Firelord Zuko (Avatar), Fluff and Angst, Gaang (Avatar), Gaang (Avatar) as Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I started writing this wanting to write angst and somewhere along the line it turned into healing, M/M, Mai/Ty Lee (Avatar) - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Slow Burn, Toph Beifong and Zuko are Siblings, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), he gets many. because he deserves them, like... a Slow Burn TM, like... really, teen and up for the language because toph and zuko are a bit feral and that's canon, the main character death is NOT one of the gaang !!, they adopt each other. forcefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24752242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliebee/pseuds/meliebee
Summary: Ten months after Zuko is crowned at seventeen, he faces his first coup.
Relationships: Mai & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko
Comments: 377
Kudos: 5571
Collections: AtLA <25k fics to read, Best of Avatar: The Last Airbender, Best of: Avatar The Last Airbender, Essentials, Zuko_angsty_and_cuddly, avatar tingz, best of avatar, escapism (to forget that the world is a burning hellscape), zukka, zukka that makes me go uwu, zuko best boi





	this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in its time, exploding)

**Author's Note:**

> i watched avatar for the first time this year right before the renaissance and am LIVING for the zukka supremacy we eatin GOOD baby!! the only things I know about post-atla canon are that ursa is alive, toph becomes a cop, and sokka dies young. i reject all those things lol 
> 
> if you want the TW for the main character death pls check the end notes!! i don't think it's graphic but please take care of yourselves <3
> 
> the title is from "oh maker" by janelle monae because I have TASTE!! i blew off like two straight days of studying for my exams for this. bon appetite

Ten months after Zuko is crowned at seventeen, he faces his first coup.

It’s not the first assassination attempt—he's had poison in his food, a shadow in his rooms, and once a venomous plant in a letter—but it’s the most coordinated. They come for him in the night after killing the guards at his doors. Zuko, barely awake, fells the first three with sweeping arcs of flame as Mai slit two throats next to him. As they heave in shuddering breaths, havoc rings distantly in the hallways, servants screaming and swords clashing violently.

It takes a day to clear out the palace. At every corner, they fight. Zuko doesn’t have time or access to the armory—he storms through the house of his forefathers in bare, bloodied feet. Mai’s hair flows freely around her shoulders. There’s red on her hands and her face, and Zuko thinks he hasn’t been this angry in months—he'd almost, almost forgotten what it was like to feel hunted.

When the attempted usurpers left alive are rounded up and tied together, Zuko surveys his advisors with a cool eye. Which of them, he wonders, wants him dead? Is it all of them, or only most? Three were already found to be conspiring with the usurpers, and two have gone missing—how many are left?

Messengers come with news from the prison cell where Ozai was kept, gasping about how he was freed in the night while Zuko was occupied with the palace infiltration.

At the same time, they learn that a small team was sent for Azula. Zuko can admit, to himself, that this worries him most—he's visited Azula, and he thinks she was getting better, but she isn’t well and he doesn’t know what will happen now that she’s been thrust back into the world and given back the power of violence like a gift. She killed those who guarded her door herself, they tell him, and his heart sinks like a stone. He had so hoped for a happier future, for her, far away from Ozai’s reach.

Mai puts his armor on, and he ties up her hair. Their eyes meet in the mirror. “You know this won’t end well,” she tells his reflection quietly. Zuko doesn’t look away, but his heartbeat stutters in his chest when he says _I know_.

The coup must have been planned for months—did it start at his coronation, Zuko wonders, or after? Where does the betrayal end, or was it always there?

Ozai gathers his forces in the south, and Zuko meets the generals who attempt to flee at the doors with drawn swords and a sharp smile he doesn’t feel. Ozai and his army of traitors (or, well, loyalists) occupy an army outpost used during the war to train soldiers, burning the land and villages around them and making menacing movements towards the palace.

Zuko stands before his forces and does his best to rally them, wondering what they see when they look at him—burned, young, and alone: prince turned exile turned traitor turned firelord.

So soon after withdrawing his people from a war, they begin to fight another.

* * *

Ozai’s people fight them the whole way south towards their encampment, and Zuko sees more battle than he ever has, dao blades wearing new callouses into already-scarred palms. Every battle they win is just more of the people he was meant to rule dead, no matter their loyalties.

He turns eighteen and Caldera City gets a day to celebrate while Ozai sends a wave of fire-spitting assassinsto try and stamp out his eldest.

He sends letters to Aang. Says _my father has escaped prison_ and _there’s a war brewing in my country._ Aang doesn’t reply to his first letter until Zuko and his army have already left the palace in effort to contain Ozai’s rebellion. He says _sorry it took me so long to reply! Katara says hi. We’re chasing these rumours of an airbending refugee from the invasion near Kyoshi islands. Hopefully we can see Suki soon!_

At the end of the letter, Aang says _Ozai can’t bend anymore, it’ll be okay_ and _you’re firelord, your people and I believe in you,_ and Zuko knows the kid doesn’t mean to be malicious but that’s no comfort. Aang gets to depose the dictator, and it’s Zuko who’s left to rule over ashes and fight a civil war.

He doesn’t write back until Aang’s second letter, which says: _what do you need? Do you need me? I can come if you need me._

Zuko answers, _no._

(Maybe Zuko didn’t make it clear just how serious the threat was. Aang probably didn’t even understand it. His time was one of peace. He probably doesn’t even know that when Zuko doesn’t write, it isn’t because the threat is gone. He doesn’t understand that for all of Zuko’s victories, he has had as many losses.

There is, in fact, such thing as too much trust. When kind, Zuko calls it naivety. When not, he calls it cruel at worst and idiocy at best.)

Sokka doesn’t get a letter—he’s too far away to do any good, being all the way in the South Pole and without Appa for quick travel, and his role in his tribe means that even as much as Zuko trusts him, he doesn’t want to tell the Southern Water Tribe that the Fire Nation is facing a civil war that makes them more than vulnerable.

Iroh doesn’t reply either. He’s meeting with the other leaders of the White Lotus, searching for lost tomes that were meant to help the reestablishment of air nomads, and Zuko’s letter—sent too late and after too much hesitation— never even finds him. If Iroh knew, he’d have come, and that needs to be enough for Zuko, as the echo of his sister whispers in his head and tells him _you always forgot he was a coward first, Zuko. He knew what Ozai was and he left you there anyway. When Ozai set you alight, Iroh closed his eyes._

Maybe Zuko needs to do this himself anyway—he knows what people say about him. Avatar’s puppet. Traitor son and traitor prince. Zuko burns Aang’s letters in his fist and scatters their ashes in the wind.

* * *

Nearly three months after the freeing of the Phoenix King, Zuko’s forces meet him in person.

Mai bares her teeth and slips knives between her knuckles. Zuko, hair blowing around his shoulders, faces his father from a distance and steadies his breath. He doesn’t ask for Ozai to stand down and withdraw, and he doesn’t ask for peace or offer his mercy. He’s eighteen, now, and his crown sits heavy on his head.

Zuko is the first to draw his blade, and the first to make his move against the opposition—his army follows suit, and Firelord Zuko makes his way towards the Phoenix King, who snarls and spits from behind a wall of defenders.

Azula is absent from their father’s side. Zuko doesn’t know it yet, but Ozai struck her down only days before—she made a mad grab for his position, half crazed and still yearning for the power he let her taste so briefly, not sure what she wanted but sure that it wasn't to be a puppet. Azula knew how to bend lightning. She had never needed to divert it.

(She died laughing, though Zuko doesn’t know it yet.)

Zuko faces those defending his father—still flameless—and fire meets fire, orange on orange and yellow on yellow. It’s not like the Agni Kai with Azula, where the siblings had the power of a sun coursing through their veins—it's violent and angry and war's appetite is hungrier than ever. Ozai yells and rages behind his human shields, says _you are no son of mine_ which Zuko already knew, and _kill that fucking fraud_ which he’s already tried _._

The generals defending him have decades of experience fighting earthbenders, but Zuko is eighteen and angry. He has been fighting to live since he was thirteen. He has been fighting to survive since Azula learned to bend. He doesn’t slow and his fire doesn’t cool.

Ozai says _I should have killed you a hundred times,_ and _I’ll do it now, you’ll die just like your mother, just like your sister, fucking weak weak weak all of you—_ and Zuko’s mind blanks. He knew, probably, the reason that they hadn’t seen Azula at Ozai’s side, defending him with the force of a thousand suns. To hear it like this, though—he hadn’t let himself think it but he _knew better,_ he knew better than anyone what Ozai could do to his children, and he should have, he should have; he should have known.

She was his little sister. Now she’s dead.

The civil war ends with Zuko’s blades in his father’s heart. Ozai splutters and coughs and goes limp, and Zuko drops him. Flames engulf the ground around them, burning higher and higher with the blistering heat of Zuko’s fury and grief. “ _Enough_ ,” he roars across the battlefield, sparks pouring from his mouth and curling into open flame— “Your king is dead. Kneel now or die with him.”

Those still standing hesitate for long enough that Zuko sets his fists alight, not noticing how the fire creeps up his arms and legs, turning from red to pink to green, his rage so thick in his lungs that he could choke on it.

A few remaining generals lunge for him—Mai strikes two down with flying daggers, a soldier impales one on his staff, and Zuko himself sends out a blistering ring of fire that sends the rest to their knees in fear. His pulse pounds in his ears. His fire writhes on his skin.

Azula is dead and Zuko couldn’t save her.

“Your war is over,” Zuko roars. “Your king is dead. Do you hear me?” Louder, he yells: “Your war is over! All of you are traitors to the crown, and you will come quietly, or you will die.” He feels older and angrier than he ever has. Zuko is used to his anger being hot and burning, and the terrifying iciness of his heart is new to him. At his feet, his father’s corpse lies still and cold.

They chain the surrendered, and Mai comes to stand next to Zuko in silence as they watch the battlefield in the aftermath. Eventually she says, “I'm glad he's dead.”

“He killed Azula,” says Zuko. His voice is flat, but it’s aching.

“I would have made his death longer,” Mai replies, quietly seething, and Zuko knows she means it. His breath shudders. Mai reaches for his hand and touches it for just a moment. Neither of them wants comfort right now, but solidarity is enough.

“I hate him,” Zuko says quietly. “I fucking _hate_ him.”

“Yeah,” says Mai. “Me too. He’s dead now. We won.” It doesn't feel like a victory, but it is. Their shoulders bump, and then separate. Zuko inhales and exhales smoke. The ground around him is charred and bloody, and Azula is dead somewhere and he didn't even know.

“I never wanted this,” he says quietly, because he doesn’t know how else to express the misery in his bones, the numbness that comes from fighting a war against his own kinsmen less than a year after being welcomed home for the first time in three years.

Mai laughs a little. He looks at her, and she shrugs. The kohl around her eyes is smudged and watery. Zuko smiles back, cracked and unhappy, and they leave the conversation there.

Zuko calls for someone else to carry Ozai away, and he and Mai head back to their soldiers to account for their losses and make plans for what comes next.

One of Ozai’s generals tells them where to find Azula, left back at Ozai’s encampment, in view from where the final battle took place. He stutters through quivering lips what had happened, Mai’s blade under his chin as he tells them of Azula's madness and confusion, her lunge at Ozai and the flames and lightning that had crackled around her fingertips as she screamed with laughter.

Those left who stayed behind at the rebellion's base are rounded up and arrested, and Zuko walks into Ozai’s tent, where he finds Azula lying on the ground. Her eyes are sightless, her hair a halo around her head, her fingers reaching for something she never found. He stumbles to his knees and sits beside her, uncomprehending and numb. Zuko takes her hands in his and says nothing, bringing her fingers to his forehead and closing his eyes. Mai only stomachs a few minutes before she leaves the tent to rage outside, her hatred for Azula warring with her grief at losing her.

Against Azula’s cold fingers, Zuko whispers: _I’m sorry. I loved you. I’m sorry. I killed him. I’m sorry._

Then he gets to his feet, leaves the tent, and sends in soldiers he trusts to wrap her body. Azula was so many things in her fourteen years. She's dead, now, but she's still his sister. 

* * *

Entering Caldera City, they’re met with cheering crowds. Zuko, still in his battle armor, wonders at this. If Ozai had been victorious, would they have met him with the same joy? (Probably not. Ozai had never shown his people kindness, and they suffered under him. But tradition is powerful and a century of brainwashing and propaganda even more so.)

The first night of their return, he decrees the battle won from the palace terrace, cries out that the _past is behind us for good, the future is now,_ and for the following three nights he watches the city light candles and send lanterns into the clouds, the people who watched Ozai’s forces raze villages to the ground and kill soldiers only just pulled from the royal family’s last crusade dancing triumphantly all through the night, sweethearts and families embracing the soldiers who fought for Zuko and returned safe.

Mai cuts her hair to her shoulders and doesn’t visit her family, and Zuko makes arrangements for Azula’s cremation and ceremony—it's private, because though he hates it, he doesn’t want anyone who still supports Ozai to be given a martyr. He’d like to think it gives her spirit peace, to be left at rest rather than pulled into another one of their father’s causes.

To the public, he speaks of _Fire_ _Princess Azula_ and says Ozai killed her. (To think of Azula’s life is to think of all the ways people failed her. Ursa, and Ozai, who warped her into what she was, and Iroh and Zuko who left her to fester. To think of Azula is to wonder how he could have saved her, when he could have intervened, and to never find an answer.)

Ozai, burned with the other dead at the battleground where they fell, is given no ceremony. Zuko hopes he rots. 

On the second night of the celebrations, he and Mai sneak out of the palace in their plainest clothes and make their way into the city, hand-in-hand like they’re younger than they are. Children run around their legs, loud like they never were under Ozai’s rule and fearless. There’s music playing in the distance, and banners hang from open windows. Zuko closes his eyes and feels heat on his cheeks, and he breathes.

Mai drags Zuko into one of the town centers where people have lit a bonfire, burning Ozai’s phoenix king banners, and Zuko forces a smile onto his face until he can feel it, twirling with a reluctantly smiling Mai between all the others doing the same, loud drums beating a steady rhythm he can feel in his chest.

For a century, his people were pressed down and suppressed, their spirits kept tightly bound. Dance and love and laughter—all of it gone. The signs of life returning to the Caldera City are more of a victory than Ozai’s death will ever be.

He knows that some of his people resent him still and might forever—for his youth, for his dead family or for his role in his family’s deaths, for his allegiances. He knows that some hated Azula for her cruelty, and some loved her for her birth and her blessings and the steady flow of praise that always accompanied her. He knows that whether Ozai was a good person had very little to do with how people felt about him. Wars aren’t always black and white, and victories aren’t either.

Zuko’s hair falls freely around his neck and Mai’s nose and cheeks are red from the cool bite of the night and heat of the fires. “Hey,” he says to her, chest-to-chest.

“Hey,” she says back, voice as husky as ever. They don’t say anything else, but it’s enough.

(They get tipsy, and whirl gracelessly faster and faster around the bonfires until people cheer for them. They go and get tattoos once they’re a little drunker, a blue dragon with red eyes on one side of Zuko’s chest, a little knife on the back of Mai’s neck. If anyone in the palace knew, it would be a scandal, which is probably the only reason he and Mai don’t back down from doing it. It’s all uncharacteristic for them but they’re trying to live, trying to feel alive, trying to remember what they fought for.)

The next night, they sit from the palace terrace and let their legs dangle over the edge as the sounds of a city still in triumph waft over through the night sky. They don’t kiss. They haven’t kissed in a while. Zuko thinks about it and can’t remember them kissing since the assassination attempt, all those months ago.

“Zuko,” says Mai, and he looks at her. She looks back. “I think someone needs to tell Ty Lee about Azula,” she tells him, without warning. Zuko blinks slowly back.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Probably.”

Mai nods. “I think I’m going to go visit her,” she says.

Zuko swallows. “Okay,” he answers a little roughly. “Is this—are we?”

Mai sighs, and reaches for him, and he gives her his hand. “I think so,” she says. “I love you, Zuko. You know I do. But I don’t think we’ve loved each other like that for a while now. I don’t… I don’t think it’s good for us to keep pretending.”

Zuko smiles crookedly, a lump in his throat, but she isn’t wrong. “Yeah, I know,” he agrees roughly. He wonders what the turning point was. Betraying him for Azula, or Azula’s death? Fighting a civil war together, or the peacetime that came before? Ember Island, where for every touch they traded bitter words? It doesn’t really matter. “Is—Ty Lee?”

Mai shrugs. “I didn’t realize for a while, and I don’t know if she feels the same, but… yeah.”

Zuko squeezes her hand. “I hope she does,” he says. “You deserve to be happy, Mai.” He thinks about the way Ty Lee used to look at Azula, and the way Azula sometimes looked back. Azula didn’t know how to love people, because no one ever did it right, but if she ever had—he thinks she loved Ty Lee as best she could.

He thinks about the way the three of them used to giggle with each other, when they were still young and bloodless, and how Mai and Ty Lee are the only ones left of their trio, with Azula dead and Zuko still on the outskirts.

Mai moves closer and puts her head on his shoulder. “You do too, Zuko,” she says quietly. “We both do. I know we’re breaking up, but I really do love you. We’ve been traitors and fought a civil war together. If you need me, I’ll be here.”

Zuko exhales heavily and looks up at the stars. “I love you too,” he tells her. “I wish things had worked between us.”

She says, so quietly he doesn’t hear it out of his melted ear, “I’m so _tired_ , Zuko.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Me too.” Mai hums, and Zuko rests his cheek on her hair and lets the night air cover them.

* * *

Two weeks later, he waves as Mai boards a balloon headed for Kyoshi island, his ribs aching from how tightly she held him when she said goodbye. Mai never used to much like goodbyes, but that was before his breakup letter and prison and Azula’s death.

She stayed long enough to help him choose new guards and interrogate his remaining generals, long enough to visit Azula’s resting place alongside their ancestors. There are knives holstered under his sleeves that she pressed into place, and promises she enacted from him to have his food tasted and keep his windows locked. She says she’ll visit with Ty Lee as soon as she can, but Zuko tells her to take her time. He wants her to be at peace, or free from obligation, at least.

Zuko holds her face between his hands, presses a kiss to her forehead, and orders her to heal and be happy. She tells him to do the same. (There are matching shadows on their faces, under their eyes. War has left scars on them.) (Zuko hopes that Ty Lee is able to help Mai with her nightmares. He doesn’t dwell on his own.) 

Zuko waves from the dock, then turns on his heel and heads back to the palace. He has work to do.

* * *

Only a week after Mai leaves, Toph arrives. 

She finds Zuko in his palace, signing orders for the imprisonment of Ozai’s forces. He watches her evenly, trying to be happy, and she comes silently and sits beside him. “I'm sorry,” she says to him. “Zuko, I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

She had left Aang and Katara before Zuko had sent the first letter, headed first to the caves below Omashu and then to the sandbenders. By the time she heard of the war it was already over.  
  
“It wasn't your fight or your fault,” says Zuko. “Why are you sorry?”  
  
Toph frowns. She grabs his hands. “Zuko, you're my family. I should have been here. I could have helped.”  
  
Zuko doesn't smile. “I didn't need help,” he says, angry. His sister did and she is dead, like his mother, like his father. A family stained in each other's blood and he's the only one left.  
  
Toph bows her head. “But you could have used it,” she says back. “Please let me be here now.” Zuko thinks it's the first time she's ever asked him for something.  
  
He looks at her, shrunken in on herself. She may say otherwise but she had no real reason to come fight in Zuko's war. She’s a child. An earthbender. She’s alone, too. Cut off from her family.  
  
Zuko sighs, and curls his fingers around hers. “Of course you can stay,” he says. “If that's what you want, I'm glad to have you.”

Toph exhales in relief, and then punches his shoulder. “Good,” she says. “Get used to it, Sparky. I’m not going anywhere. Gotta make sure no one else tries to assassinate you.” Zuko laughs, surprising himself, and Toph smiles brightly like she can sense it.

It’s nice, having Toph around. She trails him into meetings, even though she’s not supposed to, and intimidates everyone he’s speaking to even though he’s already earned their respect. She teases him mercilessly for anything she can, and makes him show her all the nooks and crannies of his city. They visit all the shadiest parts because that’s what Toph thrives off of, and she rejoices in telling him how scandalizes Aang and Katara would be when they cheer on a boxing match.

She tells him about robbing people and he matches her stories with his own until she nearly cries laughing. They feed the turtleducks, and Toph says, “Zuko, I think maybe you should call a meeting.”

Zuko looks at her. “With who?”

Toph shrugs. “The other nations? If I heard about Ozai’s resurgence, everyone else will have too by now.”

Zuko sighs and flops backwards so he’s lying on the grass. “I hate politics,” he grumbles.

Toph thumps onto the ground beside him. “Same,” she grins. “But you have me now, so I can figure out who’s allowed to stay and who has to go, and nobody can try and kill you now that I’m here or I’ll pummel them,” and she smacks a hand onto her fist to demonstrate this. By now the guards around Zuko have stopped flinching every time she makes a sudden movement near him, though a few still go stiff with tension. “Also I miss Sokka,” she adds as an afterthought, “and I think you should have some allies around.”

Zuko turns his head to eye her dubiously. “I thought you didn’t care about political shit,” he says suspiciously. “Since when do you think I should host a political convention?”

Toph pulls a face. “Since you nearly got overthrown and not a single person came to help,” she says. “I don’t give a shit about politics, but I do give a shit about making sure that the people you’re making treaties with aren’t going to screw you over again.”

Zuko looks back at the sky. He sighs. “Okay, I’ll have the convention.”

“Good,” says Toph smugly. “I am always right about everything all the time.”

Zuko reaches over to shove her into the dirt and she cackles, and then grabs his hand and squeezes it tight. Zuko doesn’t look away from the sky, sun shining onto his cheeks, but he feels his lips pull into a smile.

“I missed you,” he admits.

“Duh,” says Toph. “Who wouldn’t? I’m awesome.” Zuko laughs, and Toph grins at him. “Yeah, Sparky, I missed you too.” She flops onto his chest, entirely graceless, and Zuko squeezes his eyes shut and tries to freeze the moment in his memory for all the colder days.

Every few days, Toph barges into his rooms, pushes him to his feet, and makes him leave his treaties and letters behind. She slips his mask into his hands, and they disappear out of the palace to hunt down the loyalists she spends so much time listening for.

If Zuko was alone, it’d be lonely, and disheartening, and paranoia-inducing. As it is, though, with Toph whispering at him to _drop from the rafters now, Sparky, he’s gonna shit himself—_ it’s fun. And if Zuko finds a petty pleasure in scaring traitors into confessing with an ease that entirely avoids him in his regalia, nobody has to know.

(One of the traitors they find was responsible for sending Zuko’s letter to Iroh, back when Ozai’s coup had only just started. She says she isn’t sorry for burning the letter before it got anywhere—and she says she’s interceped all of Iroh’s subsequent letters of confusion and worry. Toph tells the woman to eat dirt, sounding angrier than Zuko has heard her since the war. Zuko, shaking, goes straight home and writes his uncle: _please come to the city, I need to talk to you, I’m sorry I haven’t written in so long, I have to explain some things._ )

Toph excels at everything she does, and she thinks it’s hilarious to make the slimy officials who turn their nose up at her in the palace piss themselves as the Blue Spirit points his dao at them.

She makes him write a letter to Aang and Katara, and all it says is _what’s up it’s Toph and_ _I get a life-changing fieldtrip with Zuko every day now so suck it, bitches_ and she refuses to elaborate. (Zuko worries that Katara will disapprove if she ever figures out what they’re doing but Toph says that’s half the fun anyway and if she did know, Katara might even join them.)

Once, after arriving back at the palace way too late, when the sun is only hours from rising, Zuko squints at her so hard that she punches his arm and demands to know what he’s thinking about.

“I’m just—” he defends, “I’m wondering. What—what do you want?”

“Uh, elaborate,” says Toph. "I want lots of things. To kick ass. To metal bend. Break some rules. I do all those things, because I am _awesome_."

“No, I mean,” says Zuko, fumbling. “Will you take over the estate from your parents? Do you want to help Aang with the airbenders? Do you want to be an Earth Queen?”

Toph shrugs. “I dunno what I wanna be,” she says, “but no to everything you just said. Aang suggested I be a cop but that’s the stupidest shit I ever heard since I hate cops, and also laws. I’m young! I have time to figure it out and I can be whatever I want. Anyways I’m plenty already—greatest earthbender in the _world_ , Sparky, first metalbender _ever_ , and, oh yeah, the _Blind Bandit_.”

Zuko laughs a little. “I know,” he assures her. “You’re the coolest person I know, and I mean that. I just meant, I dunno. I’m glad you’re here.”

Toph rolls her eyes and aims a punch at his arm. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says, which isn’t what he asked her but is kind of what he meant anyway. “Okay? I want to be here. I don’t know what I want in the future, Zuko, but I know what I want right now. Stop thinking so hard. Not everyone wants something from you.”

Zuko leans over and kisses her forehead lightly. “Okay,” he breathes. Then he messes up her hair and she cackles as she makes him trip over his own rock-encased feet.

* * *

Iroh arrives unannounced and catches Zuko entirely off guard when messengers fetch him claiming that General Iroh is at the palace gates. Zuko makes his way there so quickly that the walls are a blur, and when he finally tumbles to a stop he finds that Iroh is staring at him with just as wide-eyed.

“Nephew,” Iroh croaks, and Zuko forgets who might be watching as he flings himself into Iroh’s arms. He doesn’t know how they make it to his room, but once they're there, Iroh grasps first Zuko’s shoulders and then his cheeks firmly.

“Why didn’t you _send_ for me, nephew?” He asks, cheeks wet, taking in the new scars on Zuko’s hands, and Zuko shakes his head. “I thought you were turning me away— no one knew what was happening or where you were. Didn’t you know I would come for you?”

“I—I did,” he says, wishing he hadn’t been too insecure to send a second call for help or look more into why Iroh never replied. “I _did_ ,” he says again, “there was a traitor who burned my letters and yours. I only just found out what she was doing—I didn’t know.”

Iroh’s face crumples, and he pulls Zuko into another hug. “I am so proud of you,” he tells Zuko, as Zuko’s hands fist into Iroh’s clothes like he’s a little kid. “I am so proud and I am so sorry, Zuko. I am so sorry.”

Zuko pushes his face into Iroh’s shoulder and squeezes his eyes closed. “He killed her, Uncle,” he says, voice warped and choked. All the hurt inside of him is bleeding out.

Iroh’s breath hitches and he holds him tighter. “I know,” he answers, his own voice teary and mournful. “I know, and I am so sorry, Zuko. Please forgive me.”

Zuko sobs, and shakes, and Iroh’s arms keep him together as he trembles apart.

Toph scowls when she sees Iroh that evening, sitting on Zuko’s floor and having dinner in his room. Zuko, cheeks sticky with tears, kicks a leg out at her, but Iroh shakes his head and bows. “You are right to wonder where I was,” he says, gravelly. “It is to my great shame that I was not here at my nephew’s side. If I had known what was happening, I promise I would have been.”

“Uncle,” Zuko chides softly, “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault, and I forgive you, and things worked out.” (Did they? The thought of Azula’s ashes lingers on his mind and sits on his tongue. Zuko wonders if he’ll ever be able to be happy that Ozai is gone when it came at the price of his sister.)

Iroh shakes his head. “That is no excuse, Zuko,” he says. “We are family. It is my job to be there for you. I will do my best to make it up from now on.”

Toph raises her chin, narrows her eyes, and then sighs. “Yeah, same here,” she says. Then she cracks a smile and says, “I missed you, Uncle! How’s your tea shop?”

Zuko watches them as the conversation flows, smiling absent-mindedly at the way Toph gesticulates as she talks, his head on Iroh’s shoulder, his cheeks wet but his heart calm.

Zuko sent out the invitations for the inter-nation meeting, and he doesn’t regret it, but it means he’s doing a lot every day to make sure that the Fire Nation is able to present itself as a seamless unit instead of the recently-embroiled-in-civil-conflict mess which it kind of is.

Every day he’s meeting with advisors and generals and officials, most of whom he doesn’t care for but surprisingly some whom he does—the generals who fought tooth and nail for soldiers that got younger and younger each year, the politicians who watch Zuko with enough wariness that he trusts they have some kind of moral backbone, the ones whose lips quirk in what might be relief when he isn’t looking.

Every day is signing treaties, and dealing with people arguing in front of him for hours at a time until he forces them into compromise or ultimatums—he wants the whole education system examined and overturned, after hearing about Aang’s experiences and looking into it himself since Zuko was always tutored at home and doesn’t have much to go off of, but it’ll take a lot of work so he has to settle for a slow start with a new history curriculum and the abolition of corporal punishment.

He forces the lawmakers to draft legislation repealing Sozin’s marriage law, entirely unashamed for glaring them all into submission when he tells them that _men and women in the fire nation over the age of eighteen can marry whoever they want to and if I have to marry them myself, I will._

(Zuko thinks of the way Azula used to get this manic look after hearing Ozai or Azulon sneer about some _unnatural deviant._ He thinks of the way he found himself looking at Jet on that boat, and the way Mai sounded when she whispered Ty Lee’s name. He thinks of his years surrounded by disgraced Navy officers and pirates, a number of whom headed for the sea expressly for freedom that land didn’t allow—he thinks of two of the sailors closest to his age, Akio and Takeshi, who smiled at each other like Ursa and Ozai never did. He thinks of Sozin and Roku, who might have loved each other once. _Repeal that fucking law,_ he says, _I’m not negotiating this. All my people deserve to be free._ ) 

Toph wreaks havoc in the city on the days that Zuko spends holed up, and she waves her hand dismissively when he asks about it. Sometimes loyalists to Ozai come crawling out of the shadows, and other times scores of angry rich merchants come complaining about thievery. Zuko shrugs innocently at both reports and high-fives Toph when they pass by each other in the hallway. 

Iroh joins Zuko in some of his meetings, and makes tea for almost all of them, and drags Zuko out of his room and into the kitchens when he’s been cooped up for too long. Zuko knows that he can rule on his own, and he knows Iroh loves his tea shop, but it soothes his heart to be with Iroh again. To himself, he promises not to let a wedge be driven between them again, and from the way that Iroh fusses over him and kisses his forehead but watches with visible pride every time Zuko dons his crown, he assumes Iroh is doing the same.

He gets affirmative responses to his inter-nation invitations from the earth kingdom—earth city-kings announcing that they’ve sent their representatives, and the earth king himself asking if he should be the one to visit or if he should send someone else? Zuko squints at that letter and replies that it really doesn’t matter.

Aang and Katara promise they’ll arrive early, and Zuko is looking forward to it, doesn’t even care if they’re technically there as Avatar-nation or as Air-nation or Zuko’s friends.

Kyoshi Island tells him that they’ll be there, and he wonders if it’s too much to hope that Suki herself will come along. The Northern Water Tribe also acknowledges the meeting coolly and promises that they’ll be there in a way that implies consequences if the meeting was held without them.

The Southern Water Tribe letter is sent from Sokka. Toph whoops when she hears and says, “Yeah no shit, I told you he’d come!”

“You _didn’t_ ,” Zuko protests. “You said you missed him. I didn’t think he’d want to leave the village, he only just got back, wasn’t he travelling with Aang and Katara at first?”

Toph shrugs. “I knew he’d come,” she sing-songs. “Wanna come buy some fireflakes from a market with me? Bet you I can make Sokka and his bland-ass tastebuds _cry_.”

They do end up going to the market that day, and Zuko pulls his hood up higher over his face to hide his scar as Toph stomps her way through the crowd, pointing at the things she wants to try, bouncing on her bare feet as Zuko pays for them. They wander through the city as they like to, Zuko feeling a bit guilty over abandoning his ministers for a few hours but enjoying the time with Toph and Fire Nation market food that he hasn’t really had since before his banishment.

Toph finds a ledge for them to dangle their feet off of, and they sit and soak in the sun, Zuko letting his cloak fall off his head and rustle around his shoulders. Toph tilts her head at the sound and something in her expression twitches.

“Hey, Sparky,” Toph says, mouth full of pastry, and Zuko turns to her curiously but she hesitates. “Do you remember on ember island,” she starts, “when we saw the play?” He nods, and she continues. “You know as well as I do that rich folks _love_ to talk shit about each other. One of the things I heard—though I definitely wasn’t supposed to—was this story about your dad and you. I always thought it must be exaggerated, but no one's ever told me otherwise.”

Zuko looks away from her, feeling very small and very quiet. He knows what she’s talking about, and he isn’t really surprised that she’s asking. None of the others have ever asked about his scar, though he knows it’s not really an avoidable part of himself—he always assumed they knew where it came from, but he’s figured out over time that they probably don’t.

After a long moment, Zuko sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “It was my dad.” Toph doesn’t say anything, and Zuko plunges on. “I was thirteen. It was an Agni Kai. It’s a burn and it covers half my face.” She’s still quiet, so he looks at her and with a sudden bravery he doesn’t really feel, he asks, “Do you want to feel it?”

Toph tilts her head up at him. “Are you sure?”

In reply, Zuko grabs Toph’s hands and brings them up to his face, his heart pounding wildly. Toph spreads her fingers, spreading heat on his face, and he feels her slowly mapping out his features, her mouth going hard when she reaches the scar and feels its expanse up into his hair and over his ear.

“Shit,” she says, quietly but not gentle. Zuko huffs a laugh, surprised but not really amused.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Toph scowls, framing his face in her hands, and if it was anyone else Zuko wouldn’t let them angry that close to him, but it’s Toph and he knows she won’t hurt him. Finally, she sighs and lets go. “Fuck, Zuko,” she says, “I’m sorry.”

Zuko shrugs. “Wasn’t you,” he dismisses, “and my father’s dead now, so.”

Toph bumps her shoulder into his. “You know it was wrong, right? Ozai was a bitch and that's all shades of fucked up.”

Zuko nods. “It took me a while to figure it out,” he says quietly. “But I know it was cruel and it was wrong.”

Toph nods sharply. “Shitty parents, huh,” she says, “me too. Not—not like Ozai, but I know it can be hard to love them and hate them all at once.” Then she huffs. “That’s the trauma, so now I want a fieldtrip,” she complains, and Zuko jostles her shoulder, laughing, because he knows she’s saying _thank you for trusting me_ and _of course it doesn’t change anything._

* * *

Two entire weeks before the official inter-nation delegation, messengers interrupt Zuko in his room to tell him that a Water Tribe ship has been spotted.

Zuko is midway through finalizing a lengthy treaty about land reparations in the earth kingdom (which is a fucking disaster, because he can’t just give it _all_ back when his people live there too and have for three generations, but he can’t demand to keep much since it’s stolen ground, so they’re drawing up new regional borders and talking about making identification documents for easy passage) and when he gets the news he hastily orders everyone not to shoot at the ship or anything, since people seem a little uncertain about what to do.

Then Zuko pulls on his cloak, redoes his hair, and heads down to the harbor. On his way, he thinks about who he’ll be meeting—he’s never met with anyone from the Northern Water Tribe except for some of the prisoners of war who stayed in the capital for a few weeks after Azula and Ozai were overthrown, when Zuko was still feverish from his Agni Kai and Suki and Katara spent half their time guarding him. 

Arriving at the harbor, Zuko steps out of the palanquin and stops short. The ship, just pulling in now, isn’t Northern Tribe like he first assumed. The brown tones and patterns of its flag announce it as Southern Water Tribe instead, people in heavy furs bustling around on its deck and yelling directions to each other.

Zuko makes his way forward, his guards sticking irritatingly close by, and he feels his face split into a bright grin when he sees Sokka. He looks good—hair in customary wolftail, sleeves rolled to his elbows, head held high.

Zuko lifts one hand in a wave, but Sokka doesn’t do the same—he vaults over the edge of the ship and takes big strides past the people tying the ship to the dock and the warriors spluttering behind him. Zuko lets out a surprised laugh at the sight, and then the breath is knocked out of his chest as Sokka reaches him and immediately throws his arms around Zuko’s neck in a hug.

Zuko laughs breathlessly, his hands coming up to hug Sokka back, and the guards in his peripheral vision who all jerked forward at once are now trading uncertain glances but Zuko doesn’t care about them.

Sokka pulls back, gripping Zuko’s shoulders, and his eyes dart up and down Zuko’s body, lingering on his face. Zuko takes Sokka in, the way that he’s grown taller and the new thickness of his arms, distantly aware of his dumb smile. He wonders what Sokka sees—his longer hair, the scar on his chin from Ozai’s rebellion, his red robes and gold arm guards?

Sokka pulls him into another hug roughly, squeezing tightly, and right by Zuko’s ear says, “So good to see you, man, but what the fuck, what the _fuck_?”

They let go as Sokka’s companions arrive, Zuko’s guards taking a breath of relief at the loss of proximity. Zuko doesn’t have time to ask Sokka what he means—though he does have an idea—before he’s being introduced to six men from neighboring tribes, who all nod firmly but without the easy confidence of Sokka, who’s looking around the harbor with a smile, taking in its changes and its familiarities.

Zuko welcomes them all to the city, bows in greeting, and invites them back to the palace— real conversation will have to wait. For now, as they make their way up to the palace, Sokka explains to Zuko how he’s actually the _official ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe (!),_ but the others are all representatives of their individual tribes since the idea of a unified tribe is pretty new and only established due to the war.

Zuko knew the tribes were unaffiliated before war, but he hadn’t realized until now just how much is still happening down South. There are all sorts of disputes that have been keeping Hakoda and Sokka busy—the idea of one overarching chief was only introduced for wartime unity, and now there are all sorts of questions about how much authority each chief holds. What they’ve come to agree, after months of rebuilding and discussion, is a type of organization where each tribe deals with itself and lives separately in their still-rebuilding villages, but come under the authority of Hakoda’s tribe for political and communal purposes.

“So in the future,” Sokka explains, “Not all the ambassadors have to come along to these meetings—I can come alone, since I’m the official representative.” His chest swells a bit with the words, and Zuko watches him fondly, remembering a Sokka much less comfortable in his own abilities.

The Sokka before him now is confident, with a self-assurance borne of hard work and effort in maintaining peace while rebuilding an entire civilization from the brink of utter desolation. Sokka himself has been responsible for travelling from tribe to tribe, helping them construct new buildings and villages in merging of traditional architecture, Northern-Tribe influence, and Sokka’s own inventor’s experience.

“That’s great,” Zuko says genuinely, when Sokka has finished explaining what he’s been up to. “Seriously, Sokka. What you’ve been doing is really impressive.”

Sokka smiles at him. “Well,” he says, “Yeah. But thanks. What I really want to know, Zuko, is what the fuck happened here.”

Zuko cracks a smile, still surprised at how easily he and Sokka fall back into conversation with each other, how well they get along. “You heard about—Ozai,” he says, and Sokka scoffs.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we heard about Ozai—news was a bit distorted, but I got the gist.” He frowns, going solemn, and the concern is so naked in his face that Zuko falters. “Zuko, man, what the fuck happened? Are you okay?”

Zuko nods jerkily. “Ozai and his loyalists tried to assassinate me, and then started a civil war,” he explains, exhausted just thinking about it. “They reclaimed bits of land and lit half of it on fire—fucking nightmare to deal with—and it took a while but we fought them back.”

He hesitates, then, wondering how to explain what came next—he hasn’t had to explain it to anyone, yet. How does he put to words the rage of that last battle, the raw grief and hatred that sunk into the ground they fought upon? In the end, he isn’t able to, as they arrive at the palace and are ushered inside.

Zuko is distracted from his conversation with Sokka by giving his new guests a tour of the palace and leading them to their (hastily prepared, thankfully) rooms, introducing them to the palace staff who’ll be working with them during their stay. He grins widely when Toph smashes her way into their calm debriefing to barrel into Sokka, and then refuses to unattach herself from his side until Zuko declares the meeting adjourned, giving everyone time to settle in and giving Toph time to yammer at Sokka about everything she and Zuko have been up to—“what do you _mean_ , you’ve been terrorising nobility, what does that _mean_ ,” Sokka splutters, and Zuko turns away to hide his smile.

They catch up with each other all through dinner, Zuko propping his chin up on his hand as he takes in the sight of his two friends gesturing wildly as they talk louder and louder over each other, smiling a little dopily but not too concerned about hiding it. Iroh, greeted by Sokka with a bone-crushing hug, laughs loudly with Toph when Sokka tears up from the mountain of fireflakes on his meat, and Zuko feels something in his chest relax, like for a moment he can feel safe. 

Iroh dimisses himself from the dinner when it gets late, Toph slipping her arm into his as they both hug Sokka once more and then head off, leaving Zuko and Sokka alone.

Sokka turns to Zuko, his eyes gentle and his smile unguarded. Zuko smiles back, a little overwhelmed by having so many people he trusts close by. They head outside, to the balcony, and sit next to each other to let their legs dangle over the edge.

Sokka tilts his head up and looks at the moon. Its light casts flickering shadows under his cheekbones, and throws his new upper arm tatoos into sharp relief—Sokka shed his warmer clothes a few hours ago and now the patterns keep catching Zuko’s eye.

“Tomorrow I’ll take you on a tour of the city,” Zuko promises. “Things are different here, now. We’ve got markets, and musicians, and on Friday nights and the weekend people like to dance in the squares. We’ve been trying to bring back as much tradition from before Sozin as we can, and it’s starting to work, and there’s so much _life_ here now, and—” he pauses, catching sight of the way Sokka is looking at him. “What?”

Sokka shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, but Zuko scowls and Sokka laughs and shrugs. “Just—I’m proud of you, you know? I know it was… a lot to ask. But you’ve done real good here, Zuko, and you seem—happier.”

Zuko can feel his cheeks darken as he flushes. “Oh,” he says. “That’s because you’re here, though.” Sokka’s wide eyes shoot to his and Zuko realizes how that sounded. “I mean, you and Toph and Uncle. It’s—nice, having you all here.”

Sokka’s expression is too soft when he looks at him. It makes Zuko want to scream but Sokka’s always been like that—he sees Zuko like other people don’t. He doesn’t see a Firelord or a Prince, he just sees Zuko and all his awkward truths, and somehow he likes him anyway. 

Sokka shifts closer and swings his leg to kick at Zuko’s. “Tell me about Ozai,” he says. “All we heard was that there was some kind of a coup, no one knew how big or how serious, and then there was fighting further out in the country, and then people said Ozai was dead.” He looks over at Zuko, and Zuko looks away. “What happened, man?”

Zuko sighs, and shrugs unhappily. His hands twist in his lap. “I don’t know, that’s mostly it,” he says. “Ozai—he had a lot of loyalists. People who supported him, or hated me, or… I knew it was going to be a problem, and it wasn’t the first assassination attempt, but this was an organized effort to dethrone me.” He thinks about that night, the way he could hear screaming all through the palace, and the way he and Mai were forced to step over bodies on their way through the hallways. They were so alone, and he didn’t dwell on it then, but he thinks about it now. 

Sokka is frowning when Zuko glances over at him. “We managed to fight them off,” he says after a moment. “But news came that Ozai had been freed from prison, and Azula from her institution. They gathered forces, and more people joined them, and my father wouldn’t have stopped until I was dead and he wore the crown.” Sokka reaches out and covers one of Zuko’s hands to keep them from wringing. His hands are calloused and familiar, and Zuko looks at the shades of their hands to avoid looking at Sokka’s face.

“It was a civil war, basically.” His nose wrinkles. “We couldn’t just stamp them out—Ozai sent his people to fight us at every step, and they were trying to claim more and more towns. It took a few months of fighting before we managed to push them back towards their encampment, which is where, we, me and Mai, we learned that. Ozai—my father—he—killed Azula.” Sokka takes a sharp breath and Zuko picks at his fingers until Sokka pulls his hands away from each other and holds them loosely in his own.

Zuko looks up at him and tries not to think about the deep sympathy on Sokka’s face. “I killed him, Sokka,” he says, and Sokka reaches a hand out to grab the back of Zuko’s neck and pull him close, slotting Zuko’s face in the crook of Sokka’s neck.

Zuko lets his hands fall to his lap, and takes a few shaky breaths. Sokka asks, “is this okay?” Wordless, eyes pressed shut, Zuko nods. He feels Sokka’s hands undoing his hair, brushing over his head lightly, and inhales and exhales until the ground feels steady again and he can hear the pattern of Sokka’s heartbeat.

“I’m sorry, Zuko,” Sokka says. “That’s really fucked up.”

Zuko chokes on a laugh. “I’m trying so hard not to be angry at Aang,” he admits. “So hard.”

Sokka hums. “Because of Ozai?”

Zuko nods, his head pushing into Sokka’s chest. “If he had just killed Ozai when we asked him to, it never would have happened, and Azula—Azula—she could still be alive. I know she was sick, Sokka, and she hurt a lot of people and didn’t feel sorry for it but she was my sister, Sokka, she was my little sister. I loved her once.” His voice cracks on the words and Sokka’s hold on him tightens as he makes soft shushing noises. “We were never—like you and Katara. We were never good like that. We hurt each other all the time. And I hated her and she was only fifteen and she wanted me dead but I didn’t ever want her to _die_ , Sokka, I didn’t.”

“Aw, Zuko,” Sokka says quietly, arms looped around Zuko’s shoulders, speaking into his hair. “I know. Shh. I know.”

Zuko shudders, and inhales, and exhales. Sokka hums under his breath, and strokes Zuko’s hair, and slowly the tremor in Zuko’s chest subsides. He pushes off of Sokka and scrubs a rough hand over his face.

“Sorry,” he mutters, but Sokka shakes his head and leans forward to grab Zuko’s wrists.

“Don’t be,” he says. “Hey. It’s fucked up, Zuko. You’re allowed to be a little fucked up over everything. I’m not going to get mad at you for hurting. Fuck, Zuko, you’re only human.”

Zuko stares at him. He thinks of Iroh and Aang and Mai, all trusting him to be Firelord, and Zuko knows he can shoulder past his hurts and he knows he’s capable but—he can’t remember anyone telling him _you’re only human_ before, never once, because Zuko comes from a family of royalty and a kingdom of repression and _respect through suffering._

Sokka’s brow furrows in concern at the way Zuko is staring, but before he can say anything Zuko slumps forward bonelessly, chin on Sokka’s shoulder, bringing his hands up behind Sokka’s back. He doesn’t say thank you, but from the way Sokka winds his arms around Zuko’s waist and holds tight, it’s probably understood.

(Later they talk about the last time Zuko ever saw Azula alive, visiting her in the institution. She had said _and_ _will I be allowed to visit you in your palace soon, Fire Lord Zuzu_ with a sneer but he had said yes and that seemed to make her quietly happy, and she hadn’t given him a hug but she had waved and said _see you next time_ when he’d had to leave.)

(Later they talk about Ozai and the way he used to hurt Zuko where Azula could see it, and pit them against each other, and the effect that would have on a little kid. Later they talk about Ursa, and the way that Zuko _knows_ she’s dead because Ozai would never have let her live when he tried to kill Zuko for less. For now, Zuko lets Sokka hold him and Sokka lets him mourn his dead, fucked up family who he loved anyway.)

* * *

Having Toph and Sokka in the palace at the same time is an adjustment. When Zuko emerges from his meetings, he’s immediately accosted by two loud-mouthed teenagers who grab an arm each and drag him outside, pulling him into whatever chaotic thing they’ve decided to do that day. Iroh, when he walks in on them burning shit or smashing statues, usually smiles benignly and offers them tea.

Sokka says going a bit feral is good for Zuko. Toph says feral is Zuko’s natural state and the crown is just a disguise.

“Hey Sokka guess what,” she says one day when they’re breaking out of the palace to go watch a boxing match. “Zuko’s the Blue Spirit.”

Sokka stumbles over his feet and nearly falls off the roof they’re crawling along, which makes Toph cackle hysterically and was probably her purpose. “ _What_ ,” he shrieks, and Zuko snickers under his breath while Sokka’s jaw drops open at his lack of denial.

Eventually, when he stops going _what the fuck, what the fuck,_ under his breath, Sokka says: “Well, I always say it’s good to cut loose a bit, break some rules… it’s good for you to stop being such a prude! Live a little!”

“Ha,” snorts Zuko.

“Hey Sokka guess what,” says Toph. “Zuko used to rob people. With swords.”

“Oh my spirits _what_ ,” says Sokka.

“Shut the fuck up, Toph,” says Zuko, laughing. “Like you’re one to fucking talk, miss _help me I’m blind and I lost my wallet in this alley, please come help me find it, hey is it true you’re a loyalist?”_

Sokka glances between them, eyes wide and horrified. “This was a mistake,” he says. “Nobody should have let you two stay here together. No. _Bad_. Fucking rich kids.”

Toph chortles, and Zuko shrugs. “Hey Sokka guess what,” he says, “Aang told Toph she should be a cop so she burned down the precinct in Caldera City’s most corrupt district out of pure spite. She’s made six officers resign so far and I’m proud as shit.”

Sokka shrieks, and Toph reaches out to push him off the building ledge. (She catches him, of course, but she thinks it’s funny to hear him flail in confusion. None of them have been scared of Toph, because they know she’ll always catch them. Zuko kind of loves her for it.)

* * *

Aang and Katara arrive in Caldera City early one morning, which sends stressed out messengers running into Zuko’s room stammering about a flying bison. Zuko visibly brightens, grabs Sokka’s wrist (they were pretending to look over a treaty but really just roasting the shit out of an advisor's greasy hair), and together they run off to the roof, grabbing Toph along the way.

Appa sets down, and Aang and Katara bound off his back. Sokka yells happily and extends his arms for Aang and katara to come flying into, and they crash into his chest so hard that he’s bowled over entirely. Toph bends over in half laughing while Zuko goes to coo over his favourite sky bison, tolerating Appa’s welcome lick and burying his hands in Appa’s fur.

“Zuko!” Aang yells, and slams into Zuko’s back, arms wrapped around Zuko’s middle and pushing him into Appa’s side.

“Oof,” says Zuko, grinning, in time for Katara to appear at his side and squeeze him tight.

“We _missed_ you!” Aang says loudly. “The city looks so good! You look so good!”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” says Zuko fondly, shoving at Aang’s bald head. “Stop growing.” Aang cackles, nearly Zuko’s own height and fifteen years old.

The two of them pull Zuko over to Sokka and Toph, and together they all head inside—Aang and Katara regaling them with descriptions of their past adventures. They’ve been tracking down rumors of airbenders—Zuko hasn’t pointed them in the direction of Ty Lee’s family but he thinks he might try and get Ty Lee to talk to them— and they’ve been having more success than expected, bringing interested parties to the Eastern Air Temple with Teo and his dad and their people until there’s a group big enough to rehabilitate the Western Air Temple.

Zuko makes eye contact with Sokka, who smiles ruefully. Zuko knows that it eats at Sokka, a little, that his sister is travelling the world all the time. Sokka feels obligations that Katara doesn’t—a loyalty to the tribe that Katara feels for anyone she chooses instead. (They’ve talked about it, and Sokka had said, “if Aang chooses to try and rebuild the Air Nation, and Katara stays with him—she’ll never come back to the tribe.” Unsaid went _and_ _I’ll have to stay forever_. Zuko had said, "I don't have a proverb to give you, but if it's any consolation, I don't think Katara will ever let anyone tell her she has to do anything, Air Nation governance included.")

But Sokka can’t begrudge either of them this—to see Aang hopeful for the future of his people eases something tightly coiled in Zuko’s chest, just as seeing Katara smiling and unburdened by grief and rage makes Sokka’s teasing expression melt.

Aang and Katara cheer when they see Iroh, and beg Zuko to explore the city, so they spend the rest of the day wandering through the markets and visiting landmarks. At night, when the lanterns are lit, he and Toph bring them to one of the most vibrant parts of the city, filled with immigrants from the civil war and resettled colony families.

Drums are playing, and someone’s pulled out a tsungi horn and harp. Aang and Katara beam at each other and bound into the circle of dancers in the middle of the square, moving around each other so effortlessly that they might as well be connected. Toph joins them for a while, stomping and clapping and pulled around by the other two, until she finds her way to a girl she’s friends with on the outskirts of the crowd. Zuko and Sokka watch them, Aang and Katara perfectly in sync like no one Zuko’s ever seen, Toph blushing when her friend reaches out and shoves at her shoulders. 

It’s a dark night and the moon shines above them, smiling, as the lanterns send shadows across the cobblestone floor.

Zuko’s happy watching the others unwind and enjoy the life they fought to protect, arms folded as he leans against a wall, but Sokka gets a light in his eyes and turns, smirking, to Zuko.

“Come on,” he says invitingly, and Zuko laughs and shakes his head. “ _Zu-ko_ ,” Sokka wheedles, and Zuko shoves at him lightly but doesn’t do anything to stop it when Sokka pulls Zuko by the hand to drag him closer to the dancers and turn him in a circle. Sokka draws him close, pressing a smile against the skin of Zuko’s neck. Aang and Katara and Toph are dancing in wild circles, close by but not close enough that they notice, with Toph’s friend cheering from the crowd.

Zuko brings his hands up behind Sokka’s neck, feeling bold and safe, and Sokka’s face is lit up in shades of blue and gold, his eyes sparkling. Zuko looks at him and he feels warmth.

“What?” asks Sokka when he notices Zuko’s pulled back to look at him, sounding fond. Zuko realises he’s smiling like a sap.

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing.” _I’m happy,_ he thinks. _You make me happy, remember?_

* * *

By the time the other ambassadors and representatives arrive for the inter-nation convention, Zuko feels so loose and unstressed that he has to remind himself to stay on guard. (Then again, with Toph at his side and Iroh in the room, maybe not.)

The arrival of the Kyoshi warriors brought Suki, another warrior called Yuna, and Mai and Ty Lee. Sokka watches Zuko pull Mai into a light hug and later that night says, “You must have really missed Mai.”

Zuko nods. “I did,” he agrees. “It was weird at first not having her nearby after fighting Ozai’s Rebellion.” Usually he’d die before willingly offering a vulnerability, but this is Sokka. “But we broke up, anyway, and Toph arrived pretty soon after she left, and then Uncle, and—”

“You broke up with Mai?” Asks Sokka, sounding surprised, and Zuko nods.

“I thought you knew,” he says. Sokka shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, Zuko,” he apologizes, but Zuko waves a hand to dismiss it.

“Don’t be,” he says. “We needed it.” He pauses, and then takes a risk: “I don’t think either of us could have healed from everything if we hadn’t.”

Sokka bumps shoulders with Zuko. “Well, I’m sorry anyway,” he says. “I didn’t expect it, is all. Suki and I broke up too.” Zuko whips his head around, shocked, and Sokka nods.

“We didn’t want to do long distance, even before the war ended,” he explains, “and neither of us could just leave our people after. But it’s okay, and we’re still really close, and—” He nudges Zuko to direct his vision towards where Suki is talking to Aang, her friend Yuna hovering at her side a little closer than is usual, “she’s happy, and I’m happy for her.” 

“Oh,” Zuko says. Then he laughs a little in realisation. Suki, mid-sentence, brushes her hand against Yuna’s and sends her a smile. Mai and Ty Lee, in conversation with Iroh, aren’t standing as close together, but the lightness of Mai’s expression and the brightness of Ty Lee’s eyes tells Zuko that they’re happy. They had dinner earlier and now many of the nation representatives are mingling with each other in the palace that split them apart a century ago. “I get it," he says to Sokka. "Happy endings all around,” he mumbles to himself.

Mai comes and finds him when Sokka has left to go wrap Suki in a bear hug, the two of them still close as anything, Sokka teasing Suki for the way she blushes at Yuna and telling them about the Southern Water Tribe construction projects. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting beside him on a couch, and Zuko smiles at her.

“Hey,” he says. “You look good.”

Mai tilts her head at him and smiles back. “You too,” she says.

Zuko glances pointedly at Ty lee, and Mai’s cheeks flush. “Yeah,” she tells him quietly, “I like her a lot. And she—likes me too. We aren’t dating yet, because there’s a lot we still need to work through together, but, um… things are good.” Zuko drapes an arm behind on the couch behind her, and Mai leans her head on his shoulder.

"Are you happy?" He asks.

"Getting there," she answers. "You?"

“Yeah. I’m glad for you,” he says, and means it.

Ty Lee joins them soon after, dropping down on the couch’s armrest on Zuko’s other side. “Zuko!” She chirps brightly, as always, and he smiles at her.

“Hey, Ty Lee.”

There’s a pause. Ty Lee has one foot pressed alongside Zuko’s thigh, and Mai has her chin on his shoulder, and there are three where they used to be four. He doesn’t have to ask if they’re thinking of her too, because he knows they are.

“I do miss her,” says Ty Lee. “From before she got so bad, you know? We used to play together all four of us, do you remember?” All three of them betrayed Azula, but… she betrayed them too.

“Yeah,” Zuko says softly, even though he never really played _with_ them because Azula wouldn’t let him. Zuko looks from Mai to Ty Lee, and says, “Azula loved you, I think. She loved you both as well as she could.”

Ty Lee smiles at him, not as brightly as usual but no less real. “Yeah,” she agrees. “She loved you too, Zuko. She wasn’t good at showing it, and no one ever showed her how or that she could, but she loved you too.”

“I’m sorry she’s dead,” says Mai.

“Yeah,” says Zuko. 

“Yeah,” Ty Lee echoes. “I wish she wasn’t.” Zuko lets a hand fall on her ankle, and she exhales. They don’t say anything else, but the silence that falls on them isn’t weighted, just nostalgic.

Zuko is remembering when they were little, and the worst thing Azula ever did to him was push him into ponds (or off of rooftops) or into Mai, when she used to drag Mai and Ty Lee around and tell their father they were _political allies_ but beam so _brightly_ whenever she made them laugh. 

Zuko is remembering that his sister loved people, and knowing that he loves them too.

* * *

The first day of official diplomatic discussion, Zuko looks at his reflection in the mirror and tells himself that he’s capable of making this work. He has his father’s bright eyes and his mother’s high cheekbones, a scar on his face and a scar on his chest, and a crown in his hair. The sun rises outside his windows and he makes himself keep candlelight steady until his breath is more controlled.

He heads to the meeting room, still empty, and takes his seat at the head of the table. He asked for a rounded table, to give everyone the impression of equal footing. He runs over the points he wants to cover today, written down on notes in front of him, and wonders if any of it will be accomplished or if this is going to be even harder than he imagined.

The door creaks open unannounced by the guards and Zuko’s head shoots up, immediately paranoid. Iroh, tea tray in his hands, calms his heartrate immediately.

“Uncle,” Zuko says in relief, and Iroh makes his way to the table and pours a cup for Zuko. It’s still steaming.

“Jasmine tea,” Iroh says in his warm, gravelly voice. “Your favourite.”

“Thank you,” says Zuko, smiling up at him.

Iroh considers him for a moment, and then reaches forward, smoothing Zuko’s hair back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I am so very proud of you,” he says. Zuko’s words catch in his throat, and his eyes sting.

“Uncle,” Zuko starts, but Iroh shakes his head.

“So _very_ proud,” he says firmly, and Zuko lets the words wash over him.

By the time the representatives arrive, his heartrate is slow and his shoulders less tense—he’s not in any danger of speaking out of turn and being branded for it. Uncle’s tea is on the table, and his crown is in his hair. Zuko smiles at his guests and tells them to take a seat.

The meetings are just as heavy and convoluted as Zuko feared they might be, but at least everyone is on the same page—they all want to keep making steps into the future, after spending the last year and a half focusing almost solely on reparations and concessions.

Everyone has things to say, and Zuko has to hear them all out—colony spokespeople who lobby for independence, earth city-kings who want assurances, southern water tribes that demand more aid from northern water tribes.

It becomes gradually clear that although the meetings are hosted in the Fire Nation, the problems and issues being addressed are not limited to Zuko’s country. He makes promises and signs treaties and pledges, and he apologizes and pledges money, but by the end of the week most of the representatives seem satisfied that they’ve been heard and have something to show for it—Zuko’s signed more alliance and non-intervention treaties than he ever has before.

A lot of small colonies demand the right to have their own elected officials (some of whom officially answer to the Fire Lord and some of whom still abide by Earth Kingdom law) which Zuko and the Earth-King ambassador grant after extensive discussion with each lobbying colony representative. He pledges more money to the reconstruction projects in the Southern Water Tribes in apology for a century of raiding and decimation, and he offers Kyoshi island formal non-intervention legislation protecting their independence.

Sokka takes charge in a lot of ways, dealing with disputes between the Southern tribes but also mercilessly coming for the Northern Tribe, enacting promises of trade from them with a firm voice. He’ll be the first spokesperson between the two tribes, going between the North and South to make sure that their relationship can rebuild.

It’s exhausting work. Some days Zuko spends hours talking and arguing, and then some days he spends entirely listening. But by the end of the week—he’s proud of what they’ve accomplished. They call it the _first convention of the inter-nation alliance,_ pledging to have annual meetings for dispute resolutions, accountability and maintenance of international unity. Over time, the meetings will probably become once every two or three years—but for now, still so fresh out of a century of conflict, Zuko knows this is an important step to take. 

On the last day of the week, Zuko throws a Fire Nation party for all their guests.

He’s proud to show off the growth of their nation’s cultural diversity, the music and food and dancing but he’s also happy to open bottles of sake with Sokka, Suki, Yuna, Mai and Ty Lee until they’re all drunk and giggling and feeling, for once, as young as they are. (Katara and Aang are off with Toph and her “friend”, challenging other teenagers to dance competitions that Zuko is pretty sure Toph is rigging. Sokka flatly refuses to share alcohol with his little sister.)

Sokka and Zuko stumble to his rooms together after the two couples slipped off for some quality time, and they’re meaning to try making the secret code pai sho lotus but they end up getting even drunker and laughing at each other’s shitty jokes, throwing figs into each other's mouths. Zuko’s hair is loose down his back, and Sokka runs a clumsy hand through it, somehow staying gentle, both of them sprawling gracelessly on the floor.

“It looks nice,” he slurs, “and not—it doesn’t look like Ozai. You don’t look like him.”

Zuko blinks dumbly. “How’d you even know I worried about that?” He hasn’t told anyone, because it’s traditional for Fire Lords to have long hair and he’s never thought about doing something else.

Sokka shrugs, and leans forward, draping his body weight on Zuko and looping arms around his neck. “I know everything you worry about,” he says.

“Nooo you don’t,” Zuko argues, moving his head to stare at Sokka doubtfully.

“Yep,” Sokka replies. He pets at Zuko’s hair. “I do. I know you worry about worrying y’r uncle ‘cause you want him to be happy. And I know you worry about Aang like a _daaad_. An’ I know you worry sometimes that everyone’s gonna… gonna leave you. But that’s dumb, see, ‘cause we’re not.” He unwinds his arms from Zuko so he can clasp his cheeks, and Zuko is so drunk and warm that he doesn’t flinch at the impossible gentle way Sokka cradles his scar.

“Oh,” says Zuko dumbly. Sokka leans forward and kisses his nose.

“Stop thinking immediately,” says Sokka. “It makes you look stupid.”

“Shut up,” Zuko laughs, pushing at him. “You always look stupid and you _never_ think so that’s not even _possible_.”

“No, _you_ shut up, I’m pretty when I think,” Sokka replies, indignant. He thinks hard about his response, squinting a bit. “You’re not, because, because— you’re handsome. Handsome boy. No thoughts. Head empty.”

Sokka laughs like that was clever, which makes Zuko laugh back, and Sokka shoves at him enthusiastically until they fall over, limbs pushing at each other, entirely uncoordinated.

In the morning, they wake up still intertwined, with Zuko’s face pressed against Sokka’s throat under his chin, Sokka’s arms wound around him and keeping him held to his chest.

Zuko wakes up first, and listens to Sokka snoring, and then closes his eyes to try and fall back asleep. It doesn’t work, but when Toph slams through the wall, Zuko pretends he was as fast asleep as Sokka before they splutter noisily at a cackling Toph, separating clumsily as Sokka flails his arms. Toph jumps on top of them and Zuko sighs to keep up appearances.

Toph digs a toe into his ribs and says, “Poser.”

“Saw you last night,” Zuko replies, as Sokka yawns, “With your _good friend_ ,” and chokes on his laugh when Toph shoves his face into a pillow.

* * *

Sokka stays for another week, waving from the docks when Suki and Yuna head back to Kyoshi island, squeezing Katara and Aang both tightly and making them promise to come visit him more often before they get old and won’t want to see their objectively cooler older brother, which makes them both laugh but give him extra tight hugs. Iroh heads back to Ba Singh Se after Zuko has to practically force him into it, promising to come visit, promising to write often and honestly, promising to be okay without him.

Eventually, though, one night when they’re in Zuko’s study, Sokka says: “The other Tribe members think we should head back.” Zuko pauses, and doesn’t let himself look up from the scroll he’s reading.

“Oh,” he says, keeping his voice even.

Sokka falters. Zuko can feel the weight of his gaze. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “And there’re work I have to do back home, putting those new reparations to use, you know.”

“Mm,” Zuko agrees. He remembers, hazily, Sokka promising not to leave and he knows they were drunk and he knows he’s being stupid and childish, and he knew this was coming and expected nothing different, but.

“Yeah,” says Sokka, a bit deflated. “And then I need to travel to the Northern Tribe, make them sort some shit out with us.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “That’d be good.”

Bolstered by his reply, Sokka nods. “But next time,” he says, “for the meeting—I think I’ll come alone. So I can stay a little longer.”

Zuko forces his lips into a smile and nods. “That’d be nice,” he says. “But don’t worry. I don’t need you here.”

Sokka blinks at that, looking almost a little hurt. Zuko's heart shrivels a little. “That’s—not what I meant,” he says. “I know that. I _want_ to stay longer.” He gets up from his chair and comes to stand behind Zuko’s, and then bends down and wraps his arms over Zuko’s chest, his chin on Zuko’s shoulder, their cheeks pressed up together.

Zuko takes a little breath and reaches up with a hand to touch one of Sokka’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says. “I wish I could stay longer.”

Zuko leans back into Sokka’s touch and lets himself relax. “It’s okay,” he says. “The work you’re doing for your home is really important. Say hi to your dad for me, and I’ll come and send you off.”

(When Sokka and the other tribesmen depart, Zuko raises a hand in goodbye and watches Sokka mirror it, remembering how he’d jumped over the ship’s rail to hug Zuko hello a month ago. Mai and Ty Lee are waiting for him in the palace, and Toph is sniffling a little at his side, so Zuko pulls her into a sideways hug and turns his back on the sea.)

* * *

In the weeks following the inter-nation convention, Zuko takes the time to breathe.

He visits Azula in the family catacombs, and wonders what her inscription would have been if he had been allowed to make one beyond _Princess Azula, daughter to Ozai, daughter to Ursa._

He puts strict laws about domestic abuse in place, and every time a legislator tries to make him soften his stance he thinks of the way Azula looked whenever Ozai took his hands to one of them. Zuko intends to make his nation one where people can stop being scared and angry all the time, and he knows better than anyone that homes aren't always safe havens. 

He goes on an adventure with Toph for a week, hunting down rumors of a spirit that turns out to be a group of bandits, who he and Toph take great pleasure in fighting anyway. Toph cheers in delight at the thick grass under her feet, rolling delightedly down hills as he yelps and chases after her. (He isn’t sure how long Toph will stay with him in Caldera City, but he isn’t going to worry about it. Eventually, she will move on and explore new things. But for now, she is happy with him, and she is young, raising herself, and she has no family but the one she chose.)

Mai and Ty Lee have left the palace to meet with Ty Lee’s family and ask them about talking to Aang, and Mai told Zuko that they’re going to do a bit of travelling afterwards. They’ve been thinking a lot about the war kids, those left behind by parents and those pushed too young into service, and Zuko thinks they might want to set up homes or schools or something along those lines. (“I don’t want kids to grow up like we did,” says Mai. “I’m proud of who I am today, but I shouldn’t have been learning the things I was at the age I was. None of us should have been.”)

The weeks pass, and the months pass, and time goes on. Zuko visits Iroh in Ba Sing Se, Toph off in the city while Zuko puts on an apron and takes tea orders. Iroh introduces him as _my nephew_ and the pride in his voice is so strong Zuko can feel it. 

He travels to the colonies and meets with the officials elected by their people, examines the state of the last refugee camps and meets with the people in charge of rehabilitating them. They've made so much progress, and they aren't done yet but Zuko takes a moment to think of himself at seventeen and thinks _I did this. I did this._

Sokka writes him letters, as he travels to the Northern Water Tribe, who he still has a grudge against for their discrimination against Katara, abandonment of their Southern sister tribes, and Yue's entire situation. _Pakku might be with Gran Gran now,_ he writes, _but this place still sucks major balls. _Zuko turns over the letter and laughs at the shitty drawing he finds there, a little stick figure Sokka daydreaming about pushing some Southern tribe boy off an igloo. On his way back home, Sokka sends him doodles of the places he visits with Aang and Katara, who are visiting him and giving him a ride home with Appa. Zuko keeps them all in his desk. 

He learns the names of his household staff, and slowly gains their trust until they stop flinching at his sudden movements and start forcing larger meals upon him. He hasn’t had an assassination attempt in months. Toph lets him introduce himself to her girlfriend, finally. Things are… okay. They’re okay. _He’s_ okay.

* * *

It’s been two years since Zuko was crowned at seventeen, with a court full of traitors and a crown he still feared to wear.

Time has passed, and he has grown.

He’s still healing. There are still days that he holes himself up in his room and eyes every delivered meal with mistrust, and days he can’t walk through the hallways without remembering the night of the coup, and days he can’t see the palace without seeing all the places his father had hurt him. (Ozai had quick hands, heavy hands, burning hands, and a cruel heart that never loved his children like he should have. Zuko knows it was wrong, now, and with Azula dead he could never doubt it.)

He’s still healing, but it’s not so hard anymore, with Toph stomping her way happily through his palace and his city, with his visits to Iroh every few months, with the revolutionary advisors who took the place of Ozai’s loyalists, with the letters from Sokka and Katara and Aang arriving every second week. He’s still healing, but he hurts less.

For Zuko’s nineteenth birthday, Caldera City throws a party. Two years ago they were still learning how to stop being scared and angry all the time, but since then there’s been laws allowing love and a reinvented firebending curriculm.

Toph screams him awake with a _happy birthday Sparky!_ and Iroh, visiting for the week, comes through the door chuckling a few second letter, both of them sitting on Zuko’s bed and tussling his tangled hair. They leave to let him get dressed, and then take breakfast together, where Zuko serves them tea and Toph details her plan for the day.

The household staff don’t let him do any work for the day, the most confident ones clucking at him disapprovingly when he eyes his study. Instead, Toph takes him and Iroh out of the city, and they have a picnic. It’s domestic and easy and the first time Zuko has ever liked his birthday.

(Ozai never celebrated it, always said _remember you were lucky to be born,_ or _you, who was born at night? Don’t remind me._ At sea, Zuko wouldn’t let Iroh or the crew do anything for his birthday at all, preferring to ignore it entirely. He turned seventeen without a country, and eighteen in the middle of a civil war. Zuko has never liked his birthday before, but watching Iroh clap as Toph shows off her bending, he thinks he can learn.)

In the evening, Appa flies in with Aang and Katara, both windswept and grinning when they present him with a bundle of wildflowers, a pair of pretty earrings that Zuko puts on immediately, and a fuzzy blue parka. Zuko grabs them both and pulls them into a hug, which they return with gusto—he’s dismayed to find that Aang has gotten even taller.

As has become tradition for their group, they head down to the city and buy market food before joining in celebration dances. Aang pulls Zuko in by his arms and says, “Dance with me, Sifu Hotman!” Zuko used to hate that but now he laughs and says _if you insist, Hotman Aang_. At Katara’s insistence, they perform the dancing dragon, and the crowd rumbles when they realise just who they're watching but applauds wildly when he and Aang finish the steps and send colorful fire from their fists.

Zuko’s fire has had hints of color since meeting the dragons, but when he bends alongside Aang it all comes to the surface—greens and pinks and purples, flowing from a place of _love_ instead of hate, and burning brighter every time Zuko catches sight of Toph and her girlfriend pickpocketing merchants or Aang and Katara bending over each other and laughing wildly. Iroh exclaims over them when they disperse back into the crowd, patting their cheeks and smiling proudly.

 _Sozin,_ thinks Zuko, _why would you ever give this up?_

A few days later, Mai and Ty Lee arrive. Aang and Katara are still in the city, and Mai holds Ty Lee’s hand when she says, “Hey, Aang, can we talk?”

(Zuko sends Mai a thumbs up. She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s blushing.)

After they’ve spent a few days talking with Ty Lee’s family, a newly invigorated Aang and Katara fly off again to the mountains where Ty Lee’s parents immigrated from, where their community of descendants is still sequestered. Zuko waves from the balcony.

Mai and Ty Lee stay behind, and tell him about their ideas for setting up a better social security system, where kids like him and Azula don’t get ignored when they’re burned and bruised, and kids like Ty Lee and Mai get protected from political puppeteering, and children are not taught to fear or hurt each other.

“Okay,” says Zuko, head full of visions of a country where the children are not soldiers, where the children can grow up safe and loved and _children_. He hands them over to the ministers he’s been working with for the education system revamp, and Mai slips into her political voice as if she’d never left it behind. Ty Lee, at her side, smiles with a mouth full of teeth. If Azula could see them, Zuko thinks, he’d like to think she’d be proud.

Mai and Ty Lee stay close by, after that, working in the city as they start their project on the war children. Mai accompanies Zuko through the palace and they talk politics over tea, her presence warm and familiar and comforting even after everything. They’re better people now than they were back then, and when Mai presses a kiss to his cheek, Zuko is gladder than ever that they both found ways to let their wounds turn to scars.

* * *

Sokka sends a letter to him a couple months after Zuko turns nineteen, announcing that he’s headed for Caldera City, but when he arrives at the palace it still catches Zuko entirely off guard.

Led to Zuko’s study by two guards who announce him, Sokka raises his eyebrows at Zuko’s open-mouthed surprise. “Hey, jerkbender,” Sokka says, the two guards trading panicked looks, and Zuko breaks out into a smile.

“Sokka,” he breathes, and shakes off his bewilderment. He dismisses the guards with a wave and strides forward to grab Sokka and pull him into a hug. Sokka laughs and hugs back, but Zuko pulls back after a moment to look him over. “What—I thought you’d be arriving on a Southern Tribe Ship?”

Sokka shrugs. “Hitched a ride on a trading vessel,” he says casually. “Didn’t want to wait.” Then he tilts his head. “I _told_ you I want to stay longer this time.”

“Oh,” Zuko exhales, thrown. “I didn’t—I didn’t know you meant it.”

“Zuko,” says Sokka, “you idiot, of course I meant it.” He pulls Zuko into another hug, and says: “I know you’re freaking out that you don’t have a guest room prepared and all that other nerd stuff, but get used to this, because I’m not leaving anytime soon.”

Zuko swallows down his heart before it can leap out of his mouth, and says, “Toph is going to lose her mind.” Sokka laughs right beside Zuko’s ear and the fire in Zuko’s chest glows a little brighter as he memorizes the sound.

There are three things that Zuko didn’t expect would happen as a result of Sokka’s arrival in the Fire Nation.

First is that Toph leaves Caldera City for the fire time in nearly a year, not permanently but to visit Iroh and then her parents, to see if there’s any relationship to be salvaged.

She wants to try, and Zuko supports that and her, but— “Remember that you don’t have to stay with them, or forgive them,” he says before she leaves, his hands hovering. “You can come back any time, you know, and—”

Toph sighs heavily. “Thank spirits you’re here,” she says to Sokka, who’s watching Zuko in amusement. “Keep him from going mental, okay?” Then she slides under Zuko’s arm and squeezes his chest tightly. “I’m coming back,” she informs him irritably. “I don’t know when, but I will. We’re family, remember?”

Zuko takes a shuddering breath and squeezes back. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Go cause trouble. I’m not gonna bail you out of jail if you get caught, by the way.”

“As if I’d need _bail_ ,” Toph scoffs. That’s a fair point. Zuko sighs out all his sappy feelings. “Love ya,” says Toph, bringing them all right back, and then she stomps on the ground and disappears before he can say it back.

“She’s awful,” says Zuko miserably, sniffling a little, and Sokka smiles at him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “it’s great.” He puts a hand on Zuko’s shoulder and steers them towards the turtleduck pond. That’s the second thing Zuko didn’t expect. He knows Sokka is tactile, always has, but it’s like Zuko is suddenly aware of _just how often_ they touch.

Sokka’s the Water Tribe Ambassador in the Fire Nation, so he’s almost always around, and in every meeting that they go to, his hand lands on Zuko’s shoulder or at the small of his back. It’s fucking ridiculous. When Zuko is pacing around, stressed out of his mind, Sokka has developed a habit of marching right up to him, grabbing both his arms, and winding them around his back so that they’re hugging and Zuko is forced to take a breath. Other times, he’ll cup Zuko’s cheeks and lean forward to tap their foreheads together, which is more casually deliberate touch than anyone other than Iroh has ever really given him, making Zuko's heart stutter every time.

At official dances, Sokka always finds his way to Zuko’s side and bullies him into accepting a dance, where Zuko ends up laughing so hard at Sokka’s commentary on the other guests that he fumbles half his steps and has to lean his forehead on Sokka’s shoulder, Sokka nudging at Zuko’s cheek with his nose and grinning widely.

Sokka’s grown taller and more built every year, and his jaw has squared out, and Zuko notices this all the same way he notices the gorgeous tattoos on Sokka's arms. There’s a day when they’re both drunk off of sake, and Zuko traces the lines of his face with his fingers while Sokka sings a raunchy tribe song under his breath. Sokka has a very effortless kind of beauty, he thinks, all muscle and blue eyes and long lashes, wide-nosed and brown-skinned, with thick hair that Zuko’s fingers twitch to touch in still moments, and the kind of laugh that people stop and listen to.

He’s a bit ethereal, and it’s a little overwhelming in all the best ways.

One night, they sit alone outside under the stars after a diplomatic meeting with three colony representatives that ended in dinner and dancing. Sokka brushes feather-light fingers over Zuko’s scarred cheek and says, “You know, you never did say what happened.”

Zuko blinks at him. Sokka goes to withdraw his hand, but Zuko reaches up and keeps them there, holds them to his face. Sokka’s eyes drift to his, inquisitive, and then Zuko lets him go, leans back, and lies on the floor.

“When I was thirteen, I asked my Uncle to join a war meeting,” he starts, and Sokka lies down next to him on his side, and the whole story comes tumbling out. By the time he gets to the part about the Agni Kai challenging, Sokka reaches out and grabs one of his hands. When Zuko says, “and I got on my knees, and I was crying,” Sokka says a quiet, heartfelt _fuck_ and moves closer, his chest against Zuko’s side.

“It took me a long time to realize he was wrong,” Zuko says after the whole story has come out. “But I did. And on the day of the black sun, I pointed my swords at him and told him it was wrong and it was cruel, and he tried to shoot me full of lightning but I sent it back.”

Sokka sits bolt upright. Uncertain, Zuko pushes himself up with his elbows to do the same. Sokka’s eyes are fierce and shining, and he must have started crying at some point in Zuko’s story because his cheeks are shiny. “Zuko,” he says, and leans forward to take Zuko’s face in his hands. “ _Zuko_.”

“That’s me,” Zuko mumbles like an idiot, and Sokka breathes out a laugh. He tilts Zuko’s face with his fingers and presses a closed-mouth kiss to Zuko’s wrinkled, hardened skin.

Zuko goes entirely still, and feels his burned-over eye widening. “I know he was your dad,” says Sokka, “but if you hadn’t killed him, I would have. What a _fucking_ asshole.”

Zuko giggles, watery and wet. He’s crying too, now, and Sokka’s calloused thumbs brush the tears off his skin. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know that now.”

“ _Good_ ,” says Sokka viciously, his eyes bright and burning. “Spirits, Zuko, what he did to you—there is no world where I wouldn’t hate him for it. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry he did that to do.” He traces the lines of the scar, then, as jagged and weathered as they are. Zuko lets him do it, watching as Sokka’s eyes fixate on his face.

Sokka leans forward and presses his lips to the scar again, the bottom, the top, the middle. “He didn’t ruin you,” Sokka tells him. “I hope you know that. He didn’t. You’re beautiful.”

Zuko burns bright red across his cheeks, but Sokka’s expression is open and honest, his words spoken fiercely, and in the face of all that loving Zuko can do nothing but nod.

On days where Sokka doesn’t have work at the same places as Zuko, they’ll meet up afterwards, and debrief each other over dinner in Zuko’s rooms. They talk about politics, and the Fire Nation, and the Southern or Northern Water Tribe, and politicians they don’t like, and what Aang and Katara and Toph are up to. (Toph, last they heard, was working on her sandbending, and making a name for herself out in the desert. Zuko’s proud as hell. She bullied a tourist into writing them a letter from her, and made the transcriber sign it from _the greatest bender ever, twinkletoes can kiss my ass!_ )

Half the time, they talk so late into the night they fall asleep on the floor together. Zuko, on one such night, stares at Sokka who’s blinking back sleepily at him, and says, “Do you want to get up on the bed? I’m too young to get back problems.”

“Uh,” says Sokka, eyes a bit more alert, and Zuko tugs him up by his arms.

“Come on,” says Zuko, pushing him towards the bed, and Sokka laughs.

“Spirits, so pushy,” he says, “What would the people say, Firelord—at least buy me dinner first—”

“I did,” says Zuko, mid-yawn. Sokka cuts himself off, and when Zuko turns to see why, his head is tilted and his eyes have that warm, sappy look that they get sometimes. Zuko throws a pillow at his face but it doesn’t go away.

“If you kick me awake, I’ll burn your hair off,” Zuko warns him, and Sokka snorts.

“We’ve slept together plenty of times before,” he says, “I don’t think I’m in danger,” and then it’s Zuko’s turn to pause and think about that, staring at the ceiling with Sokka curled up next to him.

In the mornings, when Zuko tiptoes around his room to avoid waking Sokka, sprawled artlessly across the covers, he has to open the door and accept breakfast from a member of the household staff. The first time one of them caught sight of Sokka draped over pillows on the floor, their lips had quirked up, and he’d worried that they’d ask questions, but it seemed to be explained as two old wartime friends or two nation leaders catching up.

By the time Sokka progresses to sleeping on the bed, the staff are giving Zuko warm smiles and passing him breakfast double its old size.

“For the Ambassador,” they’ll say, passing over a warm cup of coffee, because they know Zuko doesn’t drink it, “and for you,” giving him a little teacup of jasmine tea. Zuko thinks that a couple of years ago, having his staff know him so well would have been a concern, but now he just blushes a little and thanks them.

That’s the third thing he didn’t expect from Sokka moving in as ambassador. The Fire Nation, for all appearances, seem to love him.

Zuko had worried, extensively, that Sokka would be pushed to go home, but aside from a few odd glances and resigned sighs from advisors and ministers, nobody says anything. They don’t say anything about the touching, and the nights shared, and the unguarded walks they take around the palace grounds.

It makes no sense.

“You worry too much,” Sokka says when Zuko tells him about it. He’s reading over Zuko’s shoulder, chin placed comfortably beside Zuko’s face. He tilts his head to the side to tap against Zuko’s cheek, grinning cheekily. “Anyway, what’s not to love about me?”

Irritated, Zuko bats his hands at him. The young woman clearing their teacups hides her smile in her arm, proving Zuko’s point entirely, and he huffs into his collar.

The staff smile fondly when Sokka pulls him around the palace or drags him off to bed, instead of worrying that he’s being manipulated politically, which is— _stop laughing, Sokka_ — which is a valid concern! They ignore his presence in Zuko’s room when they’re draping new robes over his arms or Sokka’s shadow over his back when they’re placing food on the table, or when they drop off a meal and Sokka has his fingers threading through Zuko’s long hair.

(Sokka seems to like his hair. After a few times of asking permission first, it’s now become routine for Sokka to take Zuko’s hair out of its topknot at night, and when he sleeps over he puts it up in the mornings too. When they’re unwinding after a tense day, he’ll brush through it with his hands and braid it. Sometimes he gives Zuko hair loopies like Katara, giggling the whole time. It’s… really nice. Zuko hopes he doesn’t stop.)

The staff Zuko spent over a year getting to trust him, and they treat Sokka like he’s a beam of sunshine, and wave cheerfully whenever Sokka interrupts their activities to pull Zuko away just to do something like eat lunch or spar or feed the turtleducks.

When they go into the city, it’s even worse—people there aren’t just fond of Sokka, they _love_ him. Sokka loves shopping, so this means that Zuko has to see his people fawning over Sokka _all the time_. When they’re spotted out and about, kids follow them around and whisper to each other about his cooltattoos and necklace, women giggling when he smiles at them, some of the young men deciding to wear their own goatees after Zuko dares Sokka to grow one for a month but immediately decides he doesn’t like it.

It’s awful. Zuko’s people think Sokka is cool. Sokka thinks it’s funny as hell, and likes to say he’s the real Fire Lord—the staff serving them giggle quietly, like they know something Zuko doesn’t, and he hopes it isn’t that people really say that. “They love you too,” Sokka reassures him one day when Zuko is sulking about it, laughing. “Really, they do. People think you’re a fucking radical, but they love you for it.”

Zuko sighs exaggeratedly, little plumes of pink flame accompanying air. “But they think you’re _cool_ ,” he complains, “how did I raise my people to have _no taste_ ,” but when he’s looking over at Sokka, the other man is staring fascinatedly at his lips.

Zuko blinks. “Do that again,” Sokka demands.

“What, call you a bitch for stealing the affection of my people?”

“ _No_ ,” says Sokka, “make rainbow fire.”

“Oh,” says Zuko, and laughs. “What, like this?” He blows a stream of yellow flame towards Sokka, who gasps excitedly. Seeing his genuine awe, Zuko cups his hands and brings a flame to them, letting it writhe in his hands and shimmer in shades of purple and pink.

Sokka props his hands up on his chin. “You don’t have to worry about your people loving me,” says Sokka, flicking his eyes up from the flames to Zuko. “I’ll always love you more.”

Then he quirks a smile and looks back at the flame, like that cost him nothing to say. Zuko’s cheeks go red, and the fire does the same, and he _wonders_.

The anniversary of Ozai’s defeat is a sunny, cloudless day. Zuko wakes up and remembers, and then Sokka snuffles in his sleep and throws an arm over Zuko’s waist. Zuko turns to look at him and brush a few hairs out of his closed eyes, and trace over Sokka's tattoos like he likes to, and then burrows into the embrace and lets himself pretend for a few more hours that this day is like any other.

Eventually, Sokka wakes up and they have to get out of bed, but from the soft light of surprise in Sokka’s eyes when he wakes up still holding Zuko, he can probably tell it's going to be a weird day. 

Still sleep-slow, Sokka brushes Zuko’s hair and ties half of it into a topknot. Zuko, staring at the floor, is brought back to the present moment when Sokka’s hands trace his face from forehead to chin and then tilts his head up.

“Hey,” says Sokka, “you with me?”

Zuko sends him a small smile and nods, but doesn’t feel up to explaining—Sokka’s brow furrows at his nonverbal response, and leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead before getting up to get breakfast when their door is knocked at.

Sokka sets up their food, glancing over at Zuko every few seconds, and then Zuko comes and sits next to him and grabs a piece of mango. He nestles his chin on Sokka’s shoulder, and Sokka nudges at his hair with his nose.

Breakfast is nice, but Zuko doesn’t feel up to speaking yet, and afterwards he shoves his face into Sokka’s shoulder. “Talk to me,” Sokka urges, and Zuko groans.

“I know there’s going to be celebration outside,” he says into the cloth of Sokka’s shirt, “and I want to join but I just—it’s just—it’s a lot.”

“Okay,” says Sokka, raising a hand to smooth over Zuko’s hair. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Zuko. Let’s just… take the morning, and then later on we can go outside and you can be the kickass Firelord who revolutionized a whole country. Okay?”

Zuko nods, a little teary and mad about it, which makes Sokka laugh and press kisses to both of his eyelids. “Come on,” he says lightly, “let’s go read Iroh’s latest letter,” and Zuko lets himself be pulled up to his feet and into a quick, comfortable hug. They spend the morning sitting on the sofa in Zuko’s room, reading over letters and plays, with Sokka humming songs and Zuko shoving his feet in Sokka’s lap, and it’s safe and warm and good.

Later on, they go and join Mai and Ty Lee for lunch and then visit their first, newly established Haven—the kids stare with wide eyes, hiding behind their caretaker’s legs. Zuko crouches down to their level and coaxes them out, Sokka carting half of them around on his back and making them shriek with laughter, and Zuko thinks for a moment about what a place like this could have done for a kid like Azula before focusing all his attention on the toddler in front of him, explaining their waterpainting in abstraction. Zuko doesn't get it at all but he loves it anyway and says the toddler is an amazing artist, which earns him a shy, toothy smile and makes Ty Lee beam. 

“It’s cool, what Mai and Ty Lee are doing,” says Sokka on their walk back to the palace that evening.

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees. “It’s brilliant. The kids in there—they’re gonna grow up and be okay, you know?”

Sokka glances at him, smiles, and jostles his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “You grew up to be pretty okay too.”

Zuko thinks about that. “Thanks,” he says after a moment. “I am pretty okay, huh?”

Sokka laughs and slings an arm over his shoulder. “Super okay,” he agrees. “I’m the cool one, though. Did you see that stall back there? They were selling knock-offs of my necklace. Should I get one? Should I send one to Katara? Do _you_ want one?”

“Ugh,” Zuko groans, but he’s smiling.

Since they’re out anyway, they grab dinner from a market, and wander their way over to where they can hear distant music. Banners are hung over the square where people are gathering, children sucking at snowcones and honeyed nuts, lanterns being lit as the sky darkens and the band already jolly. People begin pairing up and forming a circle of dancers that twirl around each other, the crowd clapping along with the drums and swaying in place.

Sokka bobs his head along with the tune, smiling absently, and Zuko watches the light of the setting sun and rising lanters reflect in his eyes, filled with a warmth that his family never taught him to feel.

“Hey, do you want to dance?” Sokka asks suddenly, pulling Zuko from his admiration, and Zuko sends him an unimpressed look.

“What, now you ask nicely?” Sokka laughs at the reference to their formal dance habits, which make half the councilmen try desperately to ignore them as they whirl chaotically across the hall, and shrugs sheepishly.

Zuko tilts his head. Sokka’s gotten taller than him over the past few years, but not by too much. “Sure,” he says, when Sokka doesn’t, and they walk together into the dancing group of revelers.

Sokka’s hands slot easily onto Zuko’s hips, and Zuko’s arms drape around the back of his neck, and the music sends them towards each other and away. They switch partners when the dancers line up together and jump between each other, and make eye contact over the heads over their partners, grinning. The moon rises over them, and the music flows on, and Zuko runs his arms along Sokka’s shoulders and his arms, bare to the bite of the night and revealing his tattoos.

“I like your tattoos,” Zuko says thoughtlessly, and Sokka grins.

“I know,” he answers. “I like your hair.”

Zuko’s smile grows as he tips his head up and says, “I know.” They twirl around each other, back-to-back and side-to-side, chests pressed against each other and hands held by hands. Zuko thinks that he has never felt as complete with another person as he does when he’s with Sokka, and the realization makes him press a warm, smiling kiss to the underside of Sokka’s jaw.

They’ve danced their way absently to the outskirts of the crowd, still tangled up with each other in the shadows. Sokka is humming off-tune.

“Hey,” says Zuko, “I love you.”

Sokka’s answering smile is blinding and familiar. He leans in, one hand on Zuko’s waist and the other resting lightly against the scarred side of his face. “I love you too,” says Sokka, and Zuko slots their lips together as he smiles.

“I was going to be so mad if you said _I know_ ,” he tells Sokka when they pull away from each other, “but you do, right?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, his eyes soft and full of love, love, love. “Of course I know, Zuko. I know you. I love you.”

Zuko is so filled with love that he could let it shine from his fingers and his toes, that he could combust from the inside out, and he says, “ _Oh_ ,” and “You love me.” It’s a revelation, but it isn’t, not really.

Sokka laughs like a song, and it’s Zuko’s favorite sound in the world. “Duh,” he tells him. “Didn’t I make that obvious?”

Zuko feels his lips quirk into a smile, and he tilts his head. Sokka presses a kiss to Zuko’s nose, and then his cheeks—scarred first, smooth second. “You did,” Zuko says. “It just took me a while to be ready to see it.” He curls his fingers around Sokka’s neck and brings him into a kiss, the fire in his chest shining as bright and steady as the moon. 

**Author's Note:**

> TW: ozai kills azula off-screen, and zuko kills him.
> 
> some things:  
> \- aang and katara spend years setting up new airbending colonies, but when katara falls pregnant she decides she wants to have the baby at the south pole and subsequently becomes chief. they still travel all the time to the airbending community and also invent the term power couple. i'm giving one (1) hetero couple rights  
> \- zuko, toph and sokka go on an adventure and find dragons, and long story short sometimes a family can be an ambassador, his husband the firelord, and their baby dragon  
> \- mai and ty lee said lesbian rights and suki said ‘hell yeah’  
> \- the timeline here is wonky as hell but uhh fight me about it
> 
> anywayz let me know if there’s something more u want to see in this world! and please review if u can, friends,, i thrive off of validation <3


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